Skyrim Chronicles: Making Mirrors
by Masterless
Summary: Onyx visits an old friend for some advice; unfortunately things are NEVER easy for the Dragonborn.
1. Making Mirrors I

He swings his axe with desperation. Tired and sloppy, the Argonian throws everything he can only to hit nothing but empty air. As he passes me after that mishap of an attack, I kick his legs out underneath him causing him to stumble and fall to his front with his weapon slipping out of his hands.

"Castle Volkihar is the least of your worries," I walk towards his head and push his weapon further out of reach with my foot. "You may be cold blooded but the vampires had already sensed your arrival some time ago."

I take note of all the beaten Argonians; bloody, broken, and some close to death. I told them that they should've brought more than seven to try and assassinate me.

"…. C-Curse… you…" the last Argonian tries his best to talk despite the pain.

"As I was saying though, the vampires won't be your bane, reptile," My left hand glows of a dark and cold aura, which causes the mercenary to let out a slight sound of fear. "An attempt at my life will be your worst and last agony."

Conjuration has never been my forte but what I do summon to aid me in battle has shown some of my enemies that even the less skilled conjurer can have the last laugh. These hired scales are no exception to that rule. Extending my hand beside me, the portal to the _'other world'_ appears to allow my atronach to stand beside me. Her flames burning with exuberance as she hovers in the air.

"Elle-Auria, if you would honor me."

Speaking to atronachs are like speaking to dolls; their presence is lacking and they are voiceless except for what sounds are expected of their element or form. Elle-Auria's only response is a slight nod and the crackling of her flames as they dance all over her unique feminine stature. The gods gave her lips, and yet they are merely for aesthetics as well as the rest of her womanly assets… the only thing _alive_ about her is the fire which honestly, it's all for the better. Conversations are better left outside the battle and she is a tool for combat, nothing less, nothing more.

"D-Dragon..dragonborn!" The Argonian pleads as I turn my back. "P-Please! Give… give me the honor of your blade! Please! D—ggggaaahhhhhhhh!"

I heard the majority of his words but the rest are smothered by the sound of fire obliterating his form. It won't take long until Elle-Auria turns him into a pile of ash and his comrades with him; I on the other hand will be gone before the atronach turns the bloody mess into a foul dried up cinder; Castle Volkihar awaits… my true business lies within its doors. Walking through the bridge, pass the gargoyle decors, I find myself pushing the door open only to be greeted by the pungent smell of blood and death. Again more gargoyles are decorating the entrance, which got me to truly concoct in my head that said decors could come to life any time thanks to the will of the Vampire Lords; or should I say, _her _will.

"Greetings, my lord," the voice of the Moth Priest… I felt Dexion Evicus' presence from far away, though I rarely pay any attention to it, "it's an honor to have you back in Castle Volkihar."

The Moth Priest is permanently under my guidance thanks to events of Harkon's ambition of destroying the sun. Suffice to say, while this katana wielding priest may have some talents with the blade, the fact that he is blind gives me little to no reason to make use of him. Part of me wants to put the compelled man out of his misery but I'm still more than inclined to keep him alive. Regardless, I nod my head to him and walk towards the main hall of the Volkihar where the feasting and festivities happen. Peering down the ledge, I am once again reacquainted with the gluttonous and more revered groups of Vampires in Skyrim as they drink and eat their share on the great tables. The main table in front of my vision still remains empty; the Lady of this house who now owns on that throne has yet to use her new chair. She is nothing like her father at all; he was full of pride and would flaunt his royalty with no qualms while Serana is quite the opposite.

"Dragonborn." A voice pierces through the sound of gluttony. "It has been some time."

Garan Marethi stands up from his chair to give me the proper salutations as if I needed or wanted that kind of gesture. All of Volkihar knew of my presence the moment I stepped into their waters and yet very few of them glanced my way except for this Vampire Lord. Truthfully, he is one of the only ones I bothered talking to even if I didn't have to and considering I don't take joy in frivolous conversations should say a lot with how often I socialize with everyone else.

"Garan." I reciprocate the gesture while declining the chalice he is offering.

"Very well. Come join."

Being offered to sit amongst all of them does evoke a few heads to look up from their feasts; the 'awestruck' affect of being Dragonborn doesn't have the same spell with these Vampires. Whether it be that they have seen a lot of things, or the fact that some still resent that the Lady of the House holds a sort of respect for me, I do not know, nor do I bother; at least I try my best not to.

"Don't pester him with such hospitality, Garan," Vingalmo speaks with _that_ sarcastic tone as he holds his chalice with pride. "This one has plenty of adventures to take part of."

I slightly bow my head to him as a false respect for his words. He doesn't like me and the feelings are mutual. Though despite their condescending sarcasm, they know their place. I beat Harkon in his very own home and saved the Lady of the Castle; that much they have to acknowledge. I turn my attention back to Garan having fully sated my need to give another pompous Vampire Lord my attention.

"I won't be staying long I'm just here to -"

"See Serana. I'm aware," Garan interrupts; Of course he's aware. I don't come here to fraternize with the lot of them. "She will be in her quarters, attending to a 'special' guest. I'm sure she will have no qualms with you keeping her company."

The dunmer lowers his head and turns his back; no doubt he will be on his way to join the fray of feasting. I can only fathom what poor soul (or souls) is the main course tonight… It's always my nature to not delve into it since I already have enough friction with the lot of these guys. Veering left, I make my way towards Serana's room, passing Garmr, the Hell Hound who occasionally goes outside with me to fend off some daring Dawnguard hunters. I often wonder what would happen if those self proclaimed vampire hunters DID make it pass the bridge, what then? Right into the jaws of oblivion I say. This castle isn't just a place for the Lords to merely hide from the sun and ostracize themselves from society, it's also their haven; everything about this place: the supply of blood, the gargoyle guardians, the weapons, and the fact that this is where their number usually stays, this place is a death trap. I know what would happen if any over achieving Dawnguard reaches this place… a very painful death would meet them. I look towards the banquet room for a moment before I ascend up the small stairs… The stratification is quite obvious… the low level vampires are in their own tables eating their share humbly while the Lords are on the other table pompously telling their tales. Shaking my head, I avert my attention from them and continue on towards Serana's room.

Of course I pass by more gargoyles before the infamous cathedral where I had to save Serana from her own father's clutches. Harkon was indeed an ambitious one. The fact that he would hang his daughter in chains and use her as leverage to have me release Auriel's Bow was a testament of just how far he was willing to go _just_ to get his way. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't fast enough to implement the final stages of his plans… he wasn't exactly Alduin. Giving that event no more of my thoughts, I continue to walk pass the Cathedral. As I get closer towards the set of stairs leading me to Serana's room, I hear a very distinct sound of … muffled and agonizing screaming. I raise a brow at this as my hand wanders towards Muramasa's hilt while I keep walking towards the said stairs.

"P-Pfhnufh... Nu! NU MUMU!"

I already know what to expect. As I walk pass the two torches and ascend up the steps, I lean over to the door and prepare to knock.

"If you are to come in, Onyx," I half expected her to say something before I even complete the gesture. Vampires are after all intuitive with certain things. "I would ask you to take your helmet off."

The helmet part I also predicted. Serana abides by the concept of the vampiric tall tale of one can't come in without invitation… and to her, seeing one's face is a must to be fully invited in. I suppose that makes sense, though it always irks me for I am a bit adamant about keeping my helmet on. Sighing inwardly, I slide Clavicus Vile's gift off of my head and clutch it with my left hand.

"Now you may come in."

Rolling my eyes, I open the door and the first view I get is an imperial woman bound naked to a torture rack in the corner of the room. The prisoner immediately sees me and starts to writhe desperately against her bonds; she calls out to me through the leather strap wrapped over her mouth as if my presence truly means salvation for her. Anyone in her position would be pleading for freedom of course, as she has been obviously tortured. Her body gleaming of sweat and all the while there are traces of cuts all over her. Blood trickling down from the said cuts adding to the cause of her aesthetic desperation. I lock eyes with the imperial for a moment as she continues her struggle but I immediately break it to meet with the person who I came here to see as I glance up and see Serana looking over the ledge of the second floor of her room.

"Do no fret, Onyx," a distinct smile is plastered on her pale face which adds to the ambiance of the golden glow of her vampiric eyes are letting off. "You're not interrupting anything. As a matter of fact, you're letting this one gain a few more moments of reprieve."

"Serana." I smile myself to share the warmth she is giving me. A stark irony since vampires are usually cold beings by nature.

"It's been a long time." She responds with an even warmer tone. Serana is right, it has been a while.

**To Be Continued.**


	2. Making Mirrors II

I already surmised that it was fear that is giving this imperial all the energy she needs to struggle with all her might. With her arms lashed together above her head and her legs spread apart with the same black rope holding her wrists captive, her body is exposed to every touch; to everything that her captors would want to do. They have stripped her of her clothes so even her modesty is vulnerable… mewling through the leather strap keeping her voice captive, she looks at me with pleading eyes. She pulls on her bonds as she calls to me, fervently trying to get me to be empathetic to her situation. I give her no emotion; instead I look at Serana who is now making her way down the stairs in a slow and haunting manner. The imperial starts to sob through her gag; her chest heaving up and down causing her round breasts to bounce slightly at her heavy breathing.

"If you must know, she is a Dawnguard," I take note of the dagger Serana holds in her hand, which is not vampiric as far as I can tell. "Or at least, she was."

"She cowers like a virgin."

"Oh? You would know about virgins cowering, Onyx?" The captive lets out more sobs while I respond to Serana's words with an annoyed expression. "But that was an astute observation. She wasn't a seasoned member. In fact, I believe her first mission against us was just barely a day ago. I'm sure you can conclude just how that turned out."

I keep my eyes on Serana, watching the way she walks with such elegance that is highlighted by the long black dress that she wears. She keeps her eyes on me as well as she makes her way towards the naked girl with the dagger still held firmly.

"Nu... P-hfhnhfh..."

The imperial girl starts to struggle even more as Serana is now beside her with the dagger trailing down from her exposed naval and up to her sternum. Serana's pace of tracing the point was slow, degrading, and for someone naked and obviously been cut before, it's very frightening. She whimpers even more as Serana places the dagger on her bare chest as if the helpless young woman needed anymore reminder of her situation and her possible fate.

"Some say that perhaps the Gods have chosen the wrong vessel to own the voice of the dragons," I raise a brow at this statement but decide to let her carry on; it's interesting where she plans on going with this, to say the least. "Some of the most jovial people of Skyrim would say that if the chosen one was more virtuous, compassionate, and social that the grace of the Thu'um would not be for naught."

"People bicker, people talk, and people are overzealous on wishes. What is your point?"

"They are talking indeed. There are also talks of Sigil Stones appearing all over Skyrim. Of course not in great numbers, but one or two being located."

I'm well aware of that news as well. I give Serana a stern look, ignoring the muffled groans of the imperial as the vampiress caresses her long brown hair with such an ominous care.

"The Mythic Dawn has been active, I know."

"Yes. You have a Sigil Stone in your possession from what I heard. You do know what they _used_ to do, am I right? I know this little cattle does."

"UUUHHHH! HUHHH!" Serana's gentle petting became a vigorous tug on the girl's lock of hair, which caused the screeching squeal through her gag.

"It's no longer in my possession."

"I can only wonder where it is now. I'm sure it's décor for some archaic stone that you kneel down to." I can make do without her condescending remark about my routine. The annoyed look on my face becomes more prominent while Serana's expression becomes more entertained. "Men speak of demons and Oblivion. They are afraid that history will repeat itself. Dragons still roam and cause havoc and occasionally they are slain. Bandits are pillaging towns that are defenseless, daughters being taken and trafficked, the Stormcloaks still hang on to their rebellion even if it's by a thread, and of course the beasts of Skyrim are still out and about. The world is full of strife and I'm not even touching the grey area of thievery and assassination, in which I can assume you are part of."

"Even if the Gods were '_kind_' enough to have granted a different Dragonborn, the power of ONE man, regardless of his virtues cannot save _change the world_."

"No, but one person can give people like this one hope," Both the captive and I watch as Serana takes hold of the dagger again. While the said captive is frantically mewling through her gag, I am more or less interested at what her next few words will lead to. "The virtuous Dragonborn would do whatever he can to save this poor helpless woman," The moment Serana placed the sharp point on flesh, the imperial starts to plead through her gag. The pleading turns into a scream as Serana starts to draw the dagger downwards, putting as much pressure as needed to break through skin. "Prevent me from doing whatever it is I have in mind and save this poor girl from some dreadful fate."

"She chose her fate. She chose to be a Dawnstar. She must've been aware of the ramifications that came with it."

Serana's facial expression is an amalgam of amusement and what seems to be disappointment. The captive on the other hand shakes her head fervently, trying to convey as much of her disapproval for what I just said.

"I almost forgot all about your belief system, Onyx," Her movement with the dagger stops, though she keeps it right above the imperial's belly button; the sharp blade still puncturing, still evoking blood to spill. "Everyone has an obligation to fight for their own fate. Freedom isn't free. Does that sound right?"

For a moment it was silent between us; the heavy breathing of the imperial is the only thing that can be heard while she remains stark still. Our eyes locked for a while, studying each other. I'm not sure what's going on in that head of hers… a myriad of things perhaps; Vampires are odd that way. I on the other hand am contemplating whether I should respond to her words or not… she should know the answer. Of course the last few words that came out of her mouth are probably rhetorical.

"I didn't come here for lectures or any of your scrutinizing. My morals and decisions are not for _you_ or _anyone_ else to judge, Serana."

Serana's derisive expression quickly vanished as soon as those words left my lips. The cold and blank expression remains prominent as she lifts the dagger off of the imperial, blood dripping from its tip as she slowly places it on a table next to the rack the young woman is bound to. As the prisoner catches her breath between her sobs, Serana walks around with a cold ambiance emanating from her as she makes her way towards my direction.

"My apologies, Dragonborn. It also slips my mind that _this is your story_," Of course I can make do without such a comment. "Please do go on. You have an avid listener."

Pushing her long crimson cloak out of the way, she sits down on the chair in front of her fireplace, thoroughly fixing her posture so that she would be comfortable. With her right leg draping over the other, she clasped her hands together and places them on her knee. Serana never took her eyes off of me throughout the whole process and mine never left hers. For a few moments only our eyes communicated… but the time for such mannerisms is not adequate for what I truly came here for. Clearing my throat, I speak finally.

"The gift is becoming a curse. Could it be that your father bestowed a poison within me in case I was to turn against him?"

"What an odd question considering my Father has been dead for some time now."

"I'm aware. You-"

"I watched helplessly as you killed him for my sake, **I'm aware**." The tone she used had an obvious anger laced with it. "So you say your '_True form_' is uncooperative?"

"I lose myself. I become… unmanageable for a duration, almost like I am a newborn Lycan." I remember those days like it was yesterday; I don't miss them at all. "The hunger seems to dominate everything else and sometimes summoning the power seems detrimental far more than it is beneficial."

"If the other Lords heard your comparison, there would be more frivolous bickering in this Castle. Luckily, I'm not entirely fond of nonsensical bickering," Serana looks at the fireplace for a moment as if truly lost in her thoughts. I follow her eyes and stare at the fireplace as the flames danced right before our eyes. It's only when she starts speaking that I break away from the momentary trance. "But enlighten me, _Dragonborn, _when you call on that power, what is your intent?"

There are some people in Skyrim who speaks in riddles and metaphors; TOO many of them to be honest. Too many things to decipher just to get a simple answer as to where a certain cave is… too many run-arounds just to be told that the soul gem I search for is just hidden in a chest… too much things to solve just to find out I could've just stabbed the Draugr to death and find a talisman needed to obtain an item; Serana doesn't usually adhere to that method of speaking but I felt like there would be some kind of riddle to solve after a question like that. With the obvious confusion etched on my face, I reply.

"To win. To survive. What other reason would there be, Serana?"

"A man whose voice echoes the Dragons and your intent is merely to _win_?"

"You say that as if that isn't the goal of every battle."

"Indeed, Dragonborn. But it's also _what_ you are winning the battle for."

"What I am winning the battle for?"

"The power of a Vampire Lord is not to be taken lightly. If you delve into its power, you must have a clear picture of what victory is."

Perhaps I'm wrong, Serana does speak in ambiguousness far more often that I would imagine. Either that or the rest of Skyrim likes to play their tricks on me with their words.

"I own the Thu'um; one of the strongest powers of Skyrim. Why would the power of the Vampire Lords eradicate my sanity?"

"You were born to be the voice of the Dragons in human form, not a Vampire Lord," Her eyes glow in sync with her emphasis on her last two words. "So in order for you to truly _tamper_ with the power of vampirism, you must always have a strong intent in mind."

"I always have an intent in mind," I take a deep breath and stand there in silence for a few moments. The heavy breathing of the tortured imperial in the corner now joins the sound of fire crackling. "Regardless, thank you for your time, Serana."

I had the intent to put my helmet on and be on my way but Serana standing up pauses my action. Once again we lock eyes, her face holding a stoic expression while she walks towards me in a slow and seemingly seductive manner. Then again, Serana has always had a body language of a temptress despite the fact that she is more of a warrior than royalty.

"You were seeking my counsel and found my words inadequate," She stops mere inches from me, looking up towards my face. "I apologize then if my words doesn't suit your needs. Though I will say that perhaps the true answers to these questions lies within your reflection. Perhaps only you can truly answer them."

"Isn't that inconvenient, Serana," Clutching the Masque of Clavicus Vile with both hands, I slide it over my face, once again letting the ominous horned helmet adorn my head. "Vampires don't have reflections, remember?"

"Well then, perhaps you should make a mirror that gives you a reflection."

Riddles and rhymes once more… I sigh inside my helmet and turn my back on Serana and start making my way out of the castle. Seeing this, the imperial starts to scream through her gag again; with her muffled pleas, her struggles starts to cause the rack that she is tied on to start creaking. She won't break it, but she sure is trying. Though to her misfortune, I didn't come here for her nor do I think that her fate is mine to aid. She chose to be a Dawnguard and go against the Lords; this is her fate. It is her obligation to find her own way out.

"I remember seeing that cold dark face when my tomb was opened after being sealed in there for some time," Serana's words speak over the desperate cries. "I remember asking you to take your helmet off for the first time. You complied quicker than you would now."

I stood there for a moment as I took in her words. I give her a little bit of my attention by tilting my posture so that I would be staring at her. There she stands with her hands clasped in front of her; her black hair still perfectly framing her soft angled face.

"What's your point?"

"Things have changed. Back then, at that moment, I felt that I could trust you. You were a person that was full of burdens and yet you extended your hand. You never gave me a reason, though I figured out soon enough why. _But things have changed_. You're different now and your methods don't seem to have the same compassion."

"Change is the only thing guaranteed along with death. What do you want me to say, Serana?" Honestly, what else does she wish for me to say with that kind of statement? She stands there as if I could say something in regards to that and I have nothing.

"Nothing, Dragonborn. It seems like that person that freed me from my stone prison is just **_somebody that I used to know_**."

Vampires are cold beings and they never usually show emotions but there was something about those words that articulated a very somber expression in Serana's face. Though she only showed it for a brief moment and almost immediately her face reverts back to the cold and stoic look. I shrug my shoulder in response.

"Somebody?"

"… I used to know."

"What a very arrogant thing to say, Serana," I turn my back once again and start making way out towards the door like I originally planned the moment I put my helmet on. "You never knew me."

If words can be stakes that probably struck her straight to the heart, but perhaps I'm thinking too highly about our rapport, or how our rapport was anyways. Regardless, I don't bother to see what her reaction was and if she was saying anything, the imperial was overcoming it with her frantic gagged screams. This visit feels like it was for naught… waste of my time more or less. A vampire that speaks about mirrors and self-reflection… A conversation with a dragon would've probably been more productive.

The Lover Stone

I slowly slide off the Masque of Clavicus Vile letting the cool air hit my face. While the daedric artifact that adorns my face gives me clear vision, nothing is like having to set my own eyes upon the gifts I have given as a tribute. They serenade the ground adding more vibrancy in the almost dull setting of the Lover Stone. Soul gems grand and great, jewelry, enchanted blades, dragon bones… a myriad of things that I have earned, scavenged, and bought are scattered in no decorating pattern to them whatsoever, but they do their job as décor well enough. The torch I have set on one of the pillar has burned out and it takes a quick breath of flame to relight the tribute. The insignia of the lover stone is now even more prominent as I like it to be. Taking a deep breath, I let out a bellow of power towards the sky causing the surroundings to distort for a moment with the force I released. The skies are bright from all the stars. Then suddenly the stars are blanketed with black clouds. Shortly after, the sound of thunder and rain takes over and soon the storm I have summoned is now drenching the area with its power. While keeping my eyes on the carved form of the woman within this celestial stone, I kneel down, placing the Masque beside me.

"They say the winds are getting colder," Even the manipulated storm is a testament of my last words. The raindrops are indeed colder. "Some say the winds are messengers to certain events… What do you think?"

As always there is no answer. The shimmering of the trinkets, the crackling of fire getting hit by water, the waterfalls around me, and of course the storm is the only response I get…. Then for a moment I thought the Sigil Stone I have placed as a tribute glowed. I kept my eyes on it for a few moments… but nothing. Perhaps it's just the deception of the thunder striking down; or perhaps I need rest.

The life of this Dragonborn…. No rest for the wicked, I suppose.

**The End. For now.**


End file.
